Away From Home
by MrSpockify
Summary: After a night out with Adam takes a turn for the worst, Kurt is left feeling lost and alone. Apart from professional help, all Kurt really needs is to be surrounded by familiar faces. TW rape.
1. Chapter 1

**Notes: **It's been a while since I've written anything for Glee. Honestly, I don't even know where this idea came from. I just started writing, and then... this happened. Trigger warning for rape. There's nothing graphic in this chapter, though.

Also, sorry Kurt...

* * *

**Chapter 1 **

It felt good to get out. The air was frigid, car horns were blaring at every street corner, and there was almost a one-hundred percent chance he had witnessed three illegal activities while walking that night, but Kurt was happy. He had a warm meal inside his stomach, a fine man latched onto his arm, and a tune in his head that he couldn't stop humming.

Beside him, Adam chuckled.

"What?" Kurt asked, turning his head to the other man. They were walking to Adam's apartment after dinner and a movie, a date that Kurt had labeled as sweet and romantic, yet excruciatingly cliché. Still, he had fun.

"You're humming again," Adam purred, not even bothering to hide the amused smile from taking over his face. Kurt hugged his arm tightly before releasing it so he could unlock his apartment door. Adam swiftly jammed his keys into the lock and turned, opening the door and letting Kurt have the first entrance.

"You should be relieved," he commented, leisurely making his way to the living room. "Back in Ohio, I would have sung and danced a whole number by now. Back up dancers in leotards, flashy lights, all that jazz." Kurt grinned and handed over his coat when Adam offered to take it.

"Oh? You ever wear one of those leotards?" Adam joined Kurt in the living room, pulling him into an embrace by grabbing his hips.

"You would be so lucky," Kurt breathed, a little surprised by the sudden closeness. Their noses brushed against one another, and, perhaps unintentionally, their hips came even closer. Adam was silent, his eyes raking over the other's face. Kurt swallowed hard and pulled away, forcing a small laugh. "I actually did once." He crossed his arms and studied the area around him, relieved that there seemed to be a semblance of at least a vague amount of taste with the decor.

"Did what?" Adam asked, close at his heels.

"Wear a leotard." At the look he got from Adam, Kurt held up his hands in defense, even though he knew he had none. After a moment, he shrugged and simply said, "Beyoncé." The other man laughed and took a step back, looking as if he just found a fifty dollar bill lying on the sidewalk.

"Wait, wait, wait," he insisted, leaning over. "Don't tell me it was Single Ladies. Do _not_ tell me it was…" His eyebrows skyrocketed and he laughed even louder. Kurt held back a grin as he watched the other man lose it, any shame melting away from his mind.

"I'm not going to apologize for wanting to resemble someone as fabulous as Beyoncé," he nearly yelled over Adam's laughter. "If everyone slipped on black tights and sang about the freedom of being a single and proud woman, the world would be a better place." Kurt nodded once and made his way around a coffee table to collapse on the couch, which sank underneath his weight.

"If that means there's ever a chance I get to see you in that leotard," Adam mused, grinning over at him, "then I will second that notion." He left Kurt on the couch and disappeared into the kitchen, returning with two glasses and a bottle of something pink. The glasses made a soft plink as they hit the table, and Adam worked on getting the cork from the bottle of wine. He grunted with the effort, but eventually it gave way with a definitive pop.

Beside him on the couch, Kurt adjusted in his seat uncomfortably. He watched as Adam poured two glasses of wine, the pink liquid quiet and smooth as it fell into the cups. He smiled awkwardly as he was given a glass. "I'm actually pretty far from the legal drinking age," he jested, trying to recall any time when he had ever drank. He had always been the designated driver, so it was water for him, most of the time.

"Well," Adam replied, "I won't tell if you won't tell." He raised the glass to his mouth and took a long sip, his lips gentle on the rim of the cup and his eyes on Kurt the whole time. Kurt gulped and raised his own glass in mock toast before he brought it to his own lips.

"To living on the edge," he offered meekly, tasting the pink with his tongue before taking a small sip. It was a little bittersweet, and he was sure it was a very cheap wine, but he could live with it. He just decided not to have more than one glass; he'd drink it slow enough that Adam wouldn't even notice.

Three glasses of cheap wine later, Adam was pouring the very last of the wine into Kurt's cup, though there couldn't have been more than two gulps left. The taste had stayed on his tongue like a film and it tingled in his throat, and to be completely honest, it smelled vile. But somehow, after the second glass, it had started to taste much better. Kurt swirled the liquid in his glass before downing it and turning his attention to the other man.

"That was the last of it," Adam commented, setting down the empty bottle. Their empty glasses were perched next to it, and together they looked like a sad, see-through memory of a drunkard after sobering up. Kurt giggled. "You don't drink very often, do you?"

"No, no, I drink all the time," Kurt said, then bit his lip hard. "I drink water, and soda, and milk…" Amused by his own joke, he cracked up, throwing his head back against the back of the couch. Adam waited for him to stop laughing before continuing.

"You're drunk," he said simply, coughing out a small laugh.

"I am not!" Kurt wailed, leaving his mouth open as if he was shocked by the accusation.

"You drank over half the bottle." Adam gestured to the glasses on the table. "Who would've know you're such a lightweight."

"Ok, fine," Kurt admitted with a dramatic sigh, "I never drink. You know, I always have to be the loser that sits in the corner while everybody else has fun and gets drunk. I'm always the one who has to sit behind the wheel of someone's shitty car as I take them home because they're passed out in the back. I am _always_ the sober buzz kill." He moved closer to Adam on the couch, leaning forward for emphasis. "Mhm. And you want to know something else?"

"What?" Adam tilted his head, his eyes squinting slightly as he stared at Kurt.

"I started off tonight not wanting to drink anything, but I think I drank more because I wanted to impress you." He nodded sincerely and leaned his head sorrowfully on Adam's shoulder. "I wanted to show you that I wasn't the loser that I really am by compensating and drinking more than I should have. Is that sad?" His head snapped up and he moved his face incredibly close to Adam's. "That's really sad, isn't it?"

"No, it's not," Adam insisted, taking his face in his hands. He ran his fingers over Kurt's cheeks and over the bridge of his nose. "I think it was sweet." He pressed a soft kiss on the tip of his nose, then another one to the left of his mouth, then one to the right. Kurt blinked and breathed in deeply, trying and failing to think of something to say. All he could focus on was that Adam smelled like that wine, which suddenly didn't smell as vile as before. The only thing he could think of was that he wanted Adam to kiss him, not on the nose or cheeks, but on the lips. Not waiting for Adam to get there on his own, Kurt leaned in, perhaps a little too fiercely, and kissed him on the lips.

Maybe it was the wine clouding his mind, or maybe Kurt was just too busy focusing on how Adam tasted, but either way, he wasn't sure how or when they ended up sprawled out on the couch. Kurt was underneath the other man, happily tugging him closer and reveling in the warmth he was providing. His mouth was bubbly and sweet, and Kurt tried to taste every available part of it, inside and out.

It was only when a warm hand pressed against his stomach, which had been covered just a second ago by a buttoned and tucked-in shirt, that Kurt began to hesitate and think properly. He pulled his mouth away, a little sadly, and grabbed Adam's wrist. "Wait," he whispered, breathing heavily. His mind still whirled uneasily, and he was having an admittedly difficult time focusing on stopping rather than chugging along full-speed ahead like his body wanted to.

"What?" Adam breathed, mere inches from his face. The warm, wine-scented breath that wafted over Kurt's face made him shudder, but he bit his lip and focused harder on actually thinking.

"This is all just… moving a little fast for me," he admitted, trying to push himself up. Adam's body refused to budge, and pressing against his chest didn't really help Kurt in his efforts, because damn, he was pretty firm… _No_. No. He needed to get up.

"Come on," he chuckled, moving his mouth to Kurt's throat. Kurt gaped and let his head fall back to the couch, and he was a little ashamed at the moan that escaped his mouth in response to Adam's actions.

Dammit. _No_.

Kurt shoved Adam away, and his mouth made a small smacking noise as it left the skin at his neck. "I'm sorry," he said with great effort, finally seeing through the thick haze that the wine had left, "but I'd really rather not do this right now." He stood from the couch, swaying slightly. "I'd like to go home." Kurt started to walk off, but a hand wrapped tightly around his wrist.

"You can't walk home when you're drunk," Adam insisted, though he didn't sound too worried about him.

"I'll get a cab." He snatched his wrist away and walked around the hallway, searching for a coat closet so he could retrieve his coat from earlier. Just when he decided it wasn't worth it and he could leave without the coat, a strong hand spun him around, and suddenly Kurt was trapped against a wall.

"You can't just leave me here," Adam growled, pinning Kurt's arms against the wall. He ground his hips against the other man's, eliciting a reluctant whimper. "You _owe_ me, Kurt."

"I don't owe you any—"

"_Shut up_." Adam squeezed harder on Kurt, who looked away and closed his eyes tightly. "You have been flirty all night, leading me on, getting drunk…" His jaw clenched as he ground his teeth, and Adam tensed before reaching around and pinning Kurt's arms to his middle as he dragged the younger man back to the living room. "You owe me."

"Please," Kurt sobbed, kicking his legs out in hope to catch on something, anything. The most he did was nick a lamp before being thrown onto the floor, quickly covered by Adam's body. Realizing he wasn't going to stop, and there was no chance he could overpower him, Kurt drew in a deep breath, hoping to call for help. Before a sound could escape, a hand clamped over his mouth, muting his cries.

"If you know what's good for you, you will shut the hell up and take it like a man," Adam hissed into his ear, his breath hot and wet and nothing like it had been earlier. Suddenly the smell of the wine was sour and bitter to Kurt, making his stomach turn with nausea. His eyes stung with tears, and his throat was knotting up painfully. After another minute of futile struggle, Kurt turned his head away and shut his eyes, doing just what Adam had said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

His dad would have scolded him for what he was doing. Kurt could almost laugh— _almost_ because he wasn't sure he was capable of laughter anymore— at the thought of his dad on the phone, getting heated about a discussion on the dangers of New York City. After what had happened earlier, Kurt really didn't care anymore.

But he also knew his dad would be correct. It was four in the morning, darker than that prostitute's eye shadow out, and Kurt was lurking around in the shadows while trying to find the quickest route home. He kept glancing over his shoulder, thinking he was being pursued, but more often than not it was just his own mind playing tricks on him. A few times he even swore Adam was right behind him, breathing down his neck and getting ready to clutch and drag him back to that apartment. But again, it was just his paranoia.

Kurt felt like he was going to die at any moment. Ironically, it wasn't because of the large men he kept passing by, or the cars that seemed to drive by him too slowly. Those things made him tense up, but he didn't think he was going to be killed. If he was going to die, it'd be because his body would just give up and shut down. He could imagine his legs giving out, then as he lay on the cold pavement, his lungs would stop working, and before he could suffocate, his heart would stop beating, and that would be that.

Somehow, he didn't really despise the idea.

Anything had to be better than this. He could still feel Adam's hands on his skin, rubbing too hard and leaving marks behind. He could feel stern fingers grasped around his wrists, keeping him locked in place and helpless. Invisible hips ground against his own too roughly, and it still hurt him. He felt trapped in his own skin, reliving every second of what happened, and he thought— he _knew_— death had to be better than this.

The worst part was he had no idea what to do now. He had snuck out after Adam had fallen asleep, and he was almost home, but what about when he got there? What next? All he really wanted to do was take a shower. He felt dirty, contaminated. There was sweat and some blood and something he really didn't want to acknowledge, but it was all there, everywhere, and he wanted it off. He wanted new skin all together, because he was positive no amount of water could get this feeling off of his body.

And what would he tell Rachel and Santana? Kurt put a hand over his mouth to stifle a sob. They knew he had been hanging out with Adam that night; they'd know he spent the night at his house. They'd think… Oh _God_…

Kurt had to stop walking, in fear that he'd trip blindly and not be able to get back up. He leaned against the wall of a building, trying not to break down entirely. He covered his face with both of his hands, suddenly ashamed. What the hell had he been doing at Adam's place anyway? What was he expecting? A movie night that'd end in a snuggle session on the couch? This wasn't high school anymore. He was in the real world, dating how real people dated. He went back to come guy's apartment after the date. What else would be expected?

Kurt could feel himself start to panic as he thought further about what had happened. All night he had done nothing but flirt with Adam, latching onto his arm at every possible chance, talking about wearing leotards…

_"You would be so lucky…" _He had actually tried flirting seductively. He had _actually_ tried to be sexy for Adam.

And he got drunk. He had told himself he wouldn't drink more than one glass of wine, and he ended up drinking more than _half_ of the bottle. He never drank! Yet there he had been, downing glass after glass and asking for more every time he found his cup empty. He had acted like a middle-aged floozy of a mother, trying to seduce the milkman when he came to deliver a package.

They had kissed, too. They had been making out on the couch, grinding and touching and moaning. And they started kissing when… when Kurt… Oh _shit_! Kurt fisted his hair, finding it incredibly hard to breathe normally. His throat was tight and knotted, and he wanted to run and lie down on the ground in a fetal position at the same time. _He kissed Adam first_. He started the whole thing. It was his fault.

Kurt started to walk again, his legs on autopilot. The entire way home, he worked on getting his breathing back to normal. As long as he didn't barge into his home and stomp around loudly, Rachel and Santana would still be asleep. He just had to be quiet enough not the wake them, sneak into the bathroom, and then he could take a shower and compose himself there. That'd give him enough time to think of a story, too.

No one had to know what really happened. No one had to know what he had done.

* * *

The shower had started out scalding, and it burned his skin and left it red. He had further damaged his skin by scrubbing it raw with a washcloth, trying and failing to wipe off the feeling of Adam's hands. But as the water quickly ran from lava-esque hot to arctic, college-student's-shower cold, he still felt the unwanted touches all over his body. The only difference now was he had made himself appear to be a lobster reject, with red patches of skin where he had tried to scrape away an imagined feeling.

Kurt shut off the water and stepped out, feeling like he hadn't taken a shower at all. He still felt dirty, despite having removed at least three layers of skin from his body. He ran a hand over the condensation on the mirror to remove it so he could look at his pitiful self, emphasis on pitiful.

What had he done to himself? Kurt grimaced as he saw past the raw skin, catching glimpses of purple where he had been bruised. Long, slender marks covered both his wrists where Adam's fingers had gripped him. On his left shoulder there were four distinctive scratches, red and inflamed, trailing down to a couple inches above his elbow. They barely broke the skin, but it wasn't the vague soreness and stinging that bothered him. It was the memory of Adam moaning in pleasure, gripping hard on his shoulder, and then digging his fingernails into his skin as he rode it out.

Kurt closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. He needed to get a grip if he was going to hide this. Rachel, despite being the most self-centered person he knew, was surprisingly tuned in to his actions. If he was even a little bit off, she'd know something was up. Not to mention Santana, who could practically _smell_ when something was going on. He had to act normal.

Careful to be quiet, he wrapped himself in not one, but two towels, being sure to cover anything suspicious. He snuck out of the bathroom and to his closet, slipping on sweats that hid everything. He tried to make his way to his bed so he could get much needed sleep, even though he was fairly positive he wouldn't be able to fall asleep at all.

The lights flicked on, and Kurt froze, slightly bent over and holding out his arms straight in front of him to feel in the darkness. Slowly, he looked to the side, meeting the gaze of Santana, who was standing beside the light switch and pressing her lips together in a smug grin. She was fully dressed and had on hand on her hip proudly. Before he could say anything, Rachel came up beside Santana, looking as if she had just rolled out of bed.

"What's going on?" Rachel said, yawning and looking between Kurt and Santana. Kurt stuttered a moment, trying to come up with something to say. _Anything_.

"I was just… um…"

"Lady Hummel here just got back from a night out with his fancy English bulldog," she announced, winking at Kurt. "Woof."

"Oh, yeah," Rachel said with another yawn. She rubbed her eyes tiredly. "How'd it go?"

"I'll tell you how it went," Santana butted in, and Kurt could feel himself growing increasingly uneasy by the second. This was not going as well as he'd hoped. "It's almost five in the morning, and prince charming had to take a nice, long shower. Probably to clean off all of those sticky fluids you and your boyfriend grotesquely exchanged while doing the nasty. Come along," she insisted, turning and walking away. "Share in detail how extraordinary it was for your little gay heart." As Rachel followed suit, Kurt figured he had no way to get out of it, so he followed the both of them, hugging his arms around himself tightly.

They gathered in the kitchen, Rachel immediately plopping into a seat. Santana pulled out a chair for him and smiled dramatically.

"Take a seat," she insisted, motioning to the chair. "Unless it hurts, of course. You know…" She made an obscene hand gesture, which he elected to ignore. However, as Kurt sat down, he had to fight the urge to make a pained noise or grimace. Instead, he adjusted, quite awkwardly, so he wasn't in so much discomfort. "Would you like something to eat?" Santana continued, pretending to look in the cabinets. "Oh, probably not. You already ate an English muffin, didn't you? Buttered it up real nice, too."

"Santana," Rachel interjected, and Kurt had never been so happy for her to do so, "your blatant sexual innuendos, albeit a little clever, are already getting old. Give it a break, at _least_ until the Sun comes up." Santana rolled her eyes in response, but it seemed she was finished for the moment. She joined them at the table, and the two women turned their attention to Kurt.

"So," Santana started, "how was it? Exotic? Boring? Did it suck? Or did _he_ suck?" She grinned openly, and even Rachel looked pretty interested, which just made Kurt all the more uncomfortable. He wanted to get up and leave, or cry and curl into a ball, or a thousand other things. Really, anything but what he was doing right then and there. Their curiosity about what happened was only a reminder of what _did_ happen, and he really didn't want to remember that.

"Well," he answered slowly, hoping words would come to him. Unfortunately, the only words that were coming to mind were awful, painful, terrifying… _rape_. Only it was worse, because he couldn't say anything. What would he tell them? I basically seduced my date, got drunk, started a make out session with him, then foolishly thought I could stop it. It was my fault.

Realizing he hadn't been saying anything for a while, Kurt blinked back into reality and glanced at the two women surrounding him. He licked his lips and shrugged, trying to avoid eye contact. "It was nice," he said simply, the words forced out of his mouth like vomit. His mouth felt poisoned, and he wanted nothing more than to take the words back. He knew he couldn't, though, and he knew he needed to make it all seem like he was alright.

But forcing anything else about it from his mouth was too much. He stood from the table, relieved of the pain the chair had been causing. He managed to plaster a smile onto his lips, though it felt like he was stabbing himself in the face with a butcher knife in the process. "But, I think I'd like to get to sleep now." He nodded goodnight to each of them and turned around, heading for his bed.

"So he wore you out, then?" Santana called, laughing to herself.

Yeah, Kurt thought, burying himself beneath the covers. Understatement.

* * *

**Notes: **Ok, confession. I love writing Santana. There'll be more of her in the future of this fic, so I hope I did okay with her character. She's fun to write. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Something was going on with Kurt.

There were three things Rachel Berry prided herself on: first, her obvious star quality; second, her history of overcoming a plethora of obstacles worthy of any sappy romcom; and third, her keen senses that could tell when something was wrong with a friend. And her last prided talent was being honed in ever since Kurt had come back from his night out with Adam.

It started when he had described the night as "nice." Not only was it a description dramatically understated compared to his regular, but the way he said it implied that the night hadn't been so "nice." Rachel would have settled for thinking that Adam had just been bad in bed, or Kurt and he had ended the night fighting, but that didn't seem right. Kurt would have said something about it, or at least hinted about it. No. He was hiding something.

Then, when she went into the bathroom for her morning routine before anyone else was up, she saw it: A mess. Kurt was generally a tidy person, and very rarely did he not pick up after himself. Only when he was going through a funk did Rachel ever find a stray sock here or there. But this… This was way out of the ordinary. She tripped over the pile of clothes when she walked into the bathroom, and she would have yelled at him were it not for the splash of red she saw among the blues and whites of the outfit.

Stooping low, Rachel sifted through the clothes with her fingertips, her heart hammering in her chest. She hoped desperately it had just been a scarf or something, but deep down she knew Kurt would never be caught dead in red, white, and blue. That was too patriotic for his taste.

And there it was, like a flashing crimson light. She held his underwear between two nails, on one hand feeling a little strange for handling his delicates, but on the other hand only feeling sheer panic for her friend. Unsteadily, she stood back up and hesitated only a second before running out of the bathroom, light and quick on her feet.

"Santana," she whispered, stopping beside the head of the sleeping woman's bed. When she got no response, she shook her with her free hand. "_Santana_," she hissed aggressively, feeling relieved when she stirred awake.

"What do you want, Troll?" Santana grumbled, her eyes prying open to glare at the other girl. When Rachel held out the pair of boxer-briefs in response, Santana sat straight in the bed and pulled away. "Okay, I don't need to see your period underwear, thank you very much." She looked horrified and furious that she had been woken up for something so disgusting.

"They're _Kurt's_," Rachel clarified, turning on a bedside lamp. Santana cringed away from the underwear further, looking confused.

"Are you accusing him of having a lady-vag?" She scoffed and rubbed her face before throwing her legs over the side of the bed so she could stand.

"No, I…" Rachel sighed and followed Santana as she went to the kitchen, still holding the stained underwear in her nails. "I found them in the bathroom," she explained in a hushed tone, not wanting to wake Kurt. "He was bleeding."

"Really?" Santana asked with mockery, her voice a little too loud. "I thought he sat in nail polish." She rummaged in the refrigerator before settling on an old bagel and joining Rachel. She put her feet up on the table and sat back, seemingly fully engrossed in her snack.

"I'm serious," Rachel insisted, leaning forward. She had to get through to her; it was the only way to really help Kurt. "There's something going on with him. I can sense it. Ever since he came back from his date with Adam, Kurt's just been… off. I can outline what I've discovered so far, and we can find out what to do once you're caught up. I must say, I think I've got almost everything put together. Firstly—"

"Okay, _firstly_," Santana cut in, holding up a warning finger, "get Lady Hummel's crusty blood-panties off our table. This is where we eat." Rachel removed the underwear per requested, holding them at arm's length away from the table. "Secondly," she continued, "don't be telling me what to do. If something is really going on, you can be damn sure my bloodhound-like nose has already sniffed it out, despite the weird scents you give off that clog up my nostrils." Santana stood from her seat and wiped her hands off onto her pants before heading back to her room. She paused in the doorway, glancing over her shoulder at Rachel. "And thirdly, if you every wake me up in the middle of the night again, I will slip a razor blade into one of your incredibly childish sweaters. You won't know which one until it's too late." She smiled and disappeared into her room, leaving Rachel alone with the pair of bloody boxer-briefs.

* * *

As much as she hated to admit it, the hobbit was right, and Santana knew it. She had known something was wrong with Kurt the moment she saw him sneaking into their home that night. Then there was the underwear that she saw when she snuck into the bathroom while he had been showering. She knew immediately Kurt had gotten laid at that point, because why else would he be bleeding in his pants unless he had been hiding a vagina for his entire life? She would have brushed it off as the product of hot and aggressive sex, but she knew Kurt was like a sadly crippled turtle when it came to getting it on, so he'd never do anything to cause bleeding in bed. And once he refused to answer any of her intrusive questions, she knew for certain something had gone down, and not in the good way.

Unlike Rachel, who probably thought Kurt had fought with Adam before sitting on a nail, Santana had a pretty good idea of what had happened, and the image of her crippled turtle Kurt being fondled unwillingly made her Latina blood boil. No one should even be touched, let alone anything more than that, when they didn't want to.

So she had a plan. She was going to make things right, one way or the other.

* * *

When Kurt woke up, it took him almost two hours to actually _get_ up. His entire body was protesting, wishing it could stay hidden beneath the sheets for the rest of eternity. He just wanted to bury himself under his comforter and pretend he was in his grave. Maybe he could get some peace if he convinced himself he was a corpse.

But, unfortunately, he wasn't the only resident in the small and frigid home. Rachel and Santana were already both up and moving about in the kitchen, talking a bit too loudly and slamming cabinets like nobody's business. Kurt knew if he didn't eventually get up, they'd become suspicious, and perhaps even, to his horror, come into his bedroom and question him. He wasn't sure how many times he could get away lying to them, so he decided getting up would be the best choice in the long run.

Easier said than done. He managed to toss the sheets off of himself, exposing his body to the cold air. Even beneath his sweats he was shivering, but he wasn't entirely sure that was just because of the cold. He lied like that for a few minutes before crawling from the bed, feeling even worse than the night before. His whole body was stiff, and when he stood to full height, he could have sworn he felt something rip that shouldn't have. While stifling a scream of terror and attempting to walk like he wasn't about to fall over in pain, Kurt headed into the bathroom, scarcely avoiding saying good morning to his roommates.

Kurt collapsed the moment the door shut behind him. Crumpled on the floor, face contorted in agony, he had never felt worse. Every muscle in his body was trembling and screaming at him to stop moving, but a wrenching in his gut forced him to at least crawl pitifully over to the toilet to he could relieve his stomach of the bile that was rapidly coming up.

This wasn't working. He had wanted to hide this from everyone; pretend it didn't happen at all. He had hoped desperately he could recover enough to at least stifle anything from showing to anyone else. But at the moment, he knew that would never happen. He kept dry-heaving— as quietly as he possibly could, so as not to attract the attention of the two women— and there was a wet warmth seeping down his thighs that told him something had indeed ripped. He might be able to keep his emotions at bay for a little while, but his body would physically not do it. He was falling apart, and he could only hide that for so long.

A knock at the door made Kurt gasp, and that made him choke on his own bile, disgustingly enough. He covered his mouth with both his hands and tried desperately not to cough, which only made the sounds he _did_ make that much more horrible.

"Kurt?" Rachel's concerned voice came through the door, and she knocked again. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," he rushed out between coughs, scrambling to stand up and biting his tongue to keep from screaming as he did. Breathing through the pain, he leaned against the counter and focused on keeping his voice regular. "I'm fine."

"Oh, well, Santana said she was going out today, so I thought maybe you and I could do something. We could go for a walk, or check out some of the shops," she offered, sounding overly friendly and optimistic. Kurt would have cared more, but the only thing he cared about at the moment was the wetness seeping through his sweats.

"Yeah, okay," he replied, sounding strangled. No part of him wanted to go, but he knew he had to. She would be completely apprehensive if he refused a chance to shop.

"Okay, we'll leave whenever you're ready," Rachel said, and he could hear her heels clicking as she walked away. When she was far enough from the bathroom, he toppled back onto the floor, fumbling around for towels.

He really didn't want to look. Kurt was terrified of what he knew was there, but avoiding it would not make it any less real. With a large gulp of air, he removed his pants and set to work cleaning himself. He couldn't even clear his eyes of tears through the process because of the blood on his hands, which only made it that much messier. He felt pathetic.

* * *

Kurt was waiting for Rachel to come out of the bathroom. He had finally gotten ready, making himself presentable and, in his opinion, looking good as new. His sharp dress and clean face didn't do anything to help how he was feeling— which was like shit— but it seemed to do the trick on Rachel. Though she wasn't aware of the three layers of pants he had on just in case, nor the towels he had hidden in his bag, again, just in case.

But she didn't need to ever know about that. He just had to get through this one day at a time, which meant focusing on the task ahead of him. He needed to follow Rachel around for a few hours, maybe buy a vest or something to be convincing, then he could return to his bed and wallow until he fell into a deep, cry-induced sleep.

Rinse and repeat until death.

Kurt could hear Rachel washing her hands, so he figured it was about time to leave. Just when the water shut off, he felt his phone vibrate on his nightstand where he had left it. He grabbed it just as Rachel opened the door, and he read the text just as she said she was ready to go. Unfortunately, the text made his heart drop down to the pit of his stomach, so it was impossible to hide the fear from his face.

_Text from: Adam_

_ Can't wait to see you again. _


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 **

There was someone saying his name. There was gravity holding him firmly to the ground. There was oxygen all around him to breathe in. There were all these things and more, but Kurt was completely oblivious to everything but the phone in his hand.

Adam intended to see him again? What for?

_What for_? Kurt wanted to scoff for even asking the question. Of _course_ he knew why Adam wanted to see him again, and the reason made his legs tremble weakly.

Adam wanted to do it again. He wanted to take Kurt unwillingly, throw him to the ground and make him his. He would touch him too roughly again, whisper too loudly again, press in too hard again… It would happen all over, maybe even worse the second time.

Kurt clutched his phone tightly in his fingers and closed his eyes, trying to get a grip on reality. But all he could think of was the unwanted advances and the touches that had been forced upon him. He could feel the fingers reaching around him, pulling viciously, nails biting into his skin and leaving behind crescent marks. He could feel Adam's grip on his elbow, tugging him onto the floor. He could feel each finger individually on his skin like they were real. He could feel… He could actually _feel_ them…

The hand was real. Kurt's eyes shot open and he pulled his entire body away from the touch at his elbow, screaming in the process. He didn't want Adam to touch him anymore, let alone anything else. He had to fight harder this time. He had to keep himself from flirting and getting drunk and throwing himself all over Adam. He had to protect himself.

As he spun around on his heel to stare his attacker in the face, Kurt threw out his arm in defense, hoping to knock Adam in the chest once, hard. His hand impacted something solid, which gave easily under his fist, stumbling away. As he tried to blink through a haze of tears, Kurt backed away, shaking his head viciously.

"Don't… Don't touch me," he ordered, attempting to sound tough but only stammering like a child. He wrapped his arms around his middle, bending over slightly. He felt sick to his stomach again at the thought of Adam. He couldn't take that happening again. He just couldn't.

"Kurt…"

"No! Please," he sobbed, nearly tripping over his own feet. "Please don't." He held his phone tighter, wondering if he could use it as a weapon. His mind was reeling, and he had to stand still so he could try to stop the spinning. Footsteps sounded nearer to him, and he could tell Adam was coming closer. "No," he mumbled, looking down helplessly.

"Kurt? _Kurt_," a voice urged, and Kurt looked up briefly, his heart dropping as he did so.

It was Rachel, and she was clutching the side of her face.

He had punched Rachel.

Kurt had an overwhelming urge to pull the shorter woman into an embrace, wrapping his arms around her protectively as he soothed her with apologies. His heart ached when he remembered how hard he had swung his fist, thinking it had been Adam behind him. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was, and make sure she was alright.

But he also wanted— no, _needed_— to get away. His skin crawled uncomfortably and his feet were itching to bring him somewhere else. The thought of actually pulling her into an embrace made it even worse. He couldn't be touched again.

Kurt turned away and fled without another word, Rachel calling out his name behind him.

* * *

Adam was leisurely walking by himself at a distance from the meeting place, his hood up and a scarf wrapped around his neck and covering part of his face. He kept his head low, watching for anything that he might need to run from, mainly cops. He didn't think Kurt had it in him to call the police, but he wanted to be prepared just in case.

He had been surprised when Kurt texted him telling him he wanted to meet up, but he hadn't been disappointed. If he was lucky, he might be able to get the kid alone again and… Well, probably not. Considering they were going to meet outside a fairly popular coffee shop, he assumed there wouldn't be any alone time.

Still, he couldn't help but be hopeful. Kurt was fascinating to him. Lips like silk that could sing any tune with vocal perfection, eyes the color of everything beautiful, and a body that wriggled underneath his own, making his skin shiver with desire. Just thinking about it made Adam anxious to meet again.

Every time he saw a tall stranger with brown hair, Adam's heart skipped a beat. So far, none of them proved to be his Kurt, but he kept looking on with anticipation.

"You look like you're getting ready to bomb something," a brash feminine voice commented from behind him, and he turned around to see a familiar face that wasn't at all the one he was hoping to see.

"Santana," he greeted quietly, glancing over her shoulder. "What are you doing here?"

"Kurt's not here, and he isn't coming to meet you," she continued, as if he hadn't asked a question at all. "In fact, you're never going to see him again."

"What are you talking about?" Adam forced a small chuckle, though he felt a sudden dread at hearing her words.

"I know what you did to my boy Kurt, and if you know what's good for you, you will never come within ten miles of him, lest I get a whiff of your crumpet-scented hair follicles and come after you." Santana stepped closer to him, and though she was much shorter, he felt a strange sense of intimidation. "As it is, I texted you to meet me here so there would be witnesses if I decided to kill you. The fear of going to jail for murder is enough motivation for me to let you walk… for now." She raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to respond, but he honestly wasn't sure how to reply to that.

He stuttered for a moment before speaking. "I… I don't know what you're talking about," he said, but even he had to admit he sounded uneasy. He just couldn't fathom that Kurt had told anyone. The thought that he had blabbed about that night made Adam clench his jaw in frustration.

"Don't even," Santana nearly yelled, getting impossibly closer to him. "We both know what you did, and we both know that makes you the number one asshole in the city." Adam glanced around again, making sure no one was watching or listening to them. "Oh I hope people hear me," she commented, nodding her head. "Mhm. I hope everybody knows what you're capable of, and I hope it _ruins your life_." Adam took a few steps away, set off by the way she was leaning towards him. People _couldn't_ know.

"Stop it," he demanded when she followed him those few steps away.

"Is that what Kurt said the night you raped him?"

"_Shut up_," he hissed, leaning in as close as she had been. Her eyes widened slightly, but apart from that she didn't react to his outburst. If anything, she looked slightly amused.

"Listen," she said, her voice back to normal. "I'm a reasonable person. Despite the fact that I am fighting off the overwhelming urge to stab you with the knife I've got hidden in my bra, I don't actually want to have a murder on my conscience. So, I'm willing to compromise." She paused, presumably for effect. "You agree to never go near Kurt again, and that means you don't contact him, talk to him, touch him, or even look at him ever again. In exchange, I won't come after you to personally make sure you're deported to whatever British colony you originate from, where, by no fault of my own of course, you'll be inexplicably drowned in a body of water like some 19th century tea. Understand?"

Adam rolled his eyes, but inside he felt like running away in fear. For some reason this girl gave him a dreadful feeling in his gut, though he'd never admit it aloud. "You can't dictate my life," he said, trying to sound sure of himself.

"Yes I can. You know why?" Santana pressed her lips together firmly and blinked slowly, almost predatorily. "I've got a pair of blood-stained underwear with your name on it. And by name, I mean DNA. That, paired with some probable damage done to Kurt's nether regions along with his testimonials, and you have yourself a nice little cell in whatever state prison they decide to shove you into. So yeah, I've got you by your royal blue balls, Crawford. If you ever forget that, give me a call and I'll remind you in full." With that, she turned on heel and started off, her hips swaying theatrically. A few feet away, she paused and looked back at him, smirking. "Oh, and if you do end up in prison… Don't drop the soap." She winked and kept walking, leaving Adam to hide further behind his scarf and scurry away, his face slightly flushed.

* * *

Kurt was a wreck, and he knew it. He had somehow managed to storm out of his and Rachel's tattered apartment and had been so busy trying to get as far away from her as possible, he wasn't exactly sure where he was anymore. He was still in the same building, but he hadn't ever been down this hallway before. It looked like the basement floor of some sketchy hotel where meth was produced, but he didn't care, as long as he didn't have to face Rachel.

Sitting slightly on his side on the floor, he hugged his legs to his chest tightly and buried his face into his knees, trying to stifle his cries. Even after getting away, Kurt's mind was still swimming uncontrollably. His knuckles were sore, and he replayed the feeling of the punch in his mind, unable to forget how thrilled he had felt when his fist connected with what he thought was Adam. He had felt happy… What was _wrong_ with him?

He's falling apart, that's what was wrong with him. Kurt shut his eyes tightly, ashamed of what he had turned in to lately. It hadn't even been a week since what happened with Adam, and he was collapsing in on himself. He was violent, weak, _broken_. He was completely hopeless.

The sound of heels clicking on the floor made him jerk his head up in surprise, and Kurt quickly tried to make himself more presentable. He wiped his face clean and tried to subdue his shaky breaths, succeeding only in making his throat hurt worse.

"Kurt?" Rachel's voice, smaller than usual, piped up when she was a few feet away.

Kurt opened his mouth to reply without looking up, afraid she might be angry. When nothing came out, he pressed harder to speak, but all that escaped his lips was a broken sob. He put his face back on his knees, unable to keep himself from sniveling. Timidly, Rachel moved to sit beside him, her actions slow and precise.

"I don't know how talkative you're feeling right now," she started, the tiniest hint of humor in her voice, "so is it okay if I just talk right now?" With his face still hidden in his knees, Kurt nodded. Her voice was gentle and hesitant as she spoke, and it was strangely comforting. "Ok, well… I don't know exactly what's going on with you lately, but I have a few ideas. Just know that no matter what's going on, no matter what happened, I'm here for you, and I always will be. And so will Santana, and everyone else in your life. We love you, Kurt, and we want you to be ok. I know if I would ask you right now, you'd probably say you're doing fine, and we both know that's a lie." She paused, and Kurt could tell even without looking she was cracking a sad smile. "I'm not going to make you talk about anything you don't want to, but I want you to know I'm here if you ever do want to talk. I'll listen, no matter what."

It was silent for a while, the only sound being a faint humming from the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. Rachel made no move to touch Kurt, and he was infinitely thankful for that. After a few moments of getting himself under control, he lifted his head, still refusing to look anywhere but at the floor.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice shy and uncertain. Another quiet moment followed, but it was eventually broken, this time by Rachel.

"Please don't be mad at me," she hurried, her tone more worried than it had been before. At the sudden change in mood, Kurt finally looked up, though it was Rachel who was now studying the floor with intense focus. Without her eyes on him, he was free to scrutinize her face, and he was struck with a pang of guilt at seeing the splash of faint purple that was already showing on her skin where his fist had impacted. "I'm just really worried about you. I don't know what's happening, and I couldn't live with myself if I could have done something and I hadn't. I… I _care_ about you, Kurt…" She sucked in a breath and brought her eyes up, looking apologetic, but not guilty. "I called your dad."

Kurt looked away from Rachel, trying to hide the look of horror he was certainly showing. His dad, with a weak heart and an already stressful life, _couldn't_ know about this, no matter what. It'd kill him, quite literally. Not to mention Kurt had no intention of sharing with his father the fact that his own son threw himself around like a _slut_.

"Kurt, I'm sorry," Rachel pleaded, sounding as helpless as he felt. "Look, it… it'll be ok. Your dad said he's going to pay for your plane ticket to go back home. He's probably already done it." Kurt had to laugh at that, a strangled, muted sound. Knowing his dad, he _had_ probably already bought it. "I can talk my dads into buying me a ticket, too, so I can come with you." Kurt hid his face from view again, not sure how he felt. On one hand, he was mortified at the thought of having to face his dad like this. On the other hand, he wanted nothing more than to go back home. "It'll be ok, Kurt. I promise."

He wasn't so sure about that.

* * *

**Notes: **Couple things. Firstly, thank you all so much for the faves, follows, and wonderful reviews. They make my day... Okay, not gonna lie, they make my week... or month...

Secondly, I'd kind of like to say a quick RIP Cory Monteith. I know there's been a lot of people saying that today, but one more won't hurt. He was a great actor, and it seems he was loved by many. He'll be missed greatly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 **

Kurt was trying desperately to keep himself under control. He and Rachel had been the first to board the plane, mostly thanks to his hasty actions. He was thankful she hadn't said a word about the way he had been rushing about everywhere, but simply followed him wordlessly. Now, they were sitting side-by-side on the plane as the other passengers filed in slowly.

Santana had agreed to hold the fort in New York, stating she had better things to do than go back to Ohio. Kurt could tell she had secretly wanted to go, but for some reason she was determined not to. He wasn't going to dwell on it, though.

A man tripped in the center aisle and fell a little on Rachel, and despite the fact that Kurt had the window seat and was nowhere near the man, he flinched violently away. He turned his head to look out the window, trying to ignore the eyes that were burning into the back of his head from all angles. He knew he was making a spectacle of himself. The very moment he had stepped into the airport he had been jumpy and fidgety, unable to stand still yet unable to really go anywhere.

"Are you sure you're going to be alright?" Rachel asked from beside him, forcing him to tear his eyes away from the window. He couldn't even plaster a smile onto his face; it was too much effort he just couldn't muster.

"I'll be better once we take off," he lied, pressing his arms tightly over his stomach to push away the nausea that was rapidly appearing. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, and when he felt himself starting to sweat, Kurt began thinking that this had been a very terrible idea.

Why was he going home anyway? What did he expect to gain there? Well, if anything, he could get far away from Adam. If nothing else, that'd be a nice relief.

But other than that, he had no reason to leave. He was leaving behind school, work, friends… And all because he regretted having sex with someone. All because he couldn't control himself around Adam. All because he was _sick_.

Kurt closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing. In… Out… In… Out…

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," a perky flight attendant greeted from the front of the plane. Kurt tried desperately to ignore her grating voice, keeping his eyes shut tightly and his head down.

In… Out…

"Welcome aboard Southwestern Airlines today on your nonstop flight to Dayton, Ohio. I ask that everyone please fasten your seatbelts and put away any mobile devices or music players to listen to me as I give you a brief outline of what to do during our flight."

In… Out… In… Out…

"We request that, for the safety of yourself and those around you, you refrain from using any cell phones, radios, or portable televisions while in the cabin, and for the comfort of everyone, please no smoking."

In…Out…In…Out…

"In case of an emergency, the best thing we can all do is remain calm. Oxygen masks will be released from above you, and you will be sure to put yours on before you aid anyone else."

In. Out. In. Out.

"We shouldn't encounter any problems, as the forecast calls for sunshine and clear skies. I hope we have a smooth flight, and there are two other flight attendants here to make this trip as comfortable as possible for you today."

InOutInOutInOut.

"If you find yourself in need of anything, please press the button above you and an attendant will come to you shortly. Have a nice flight!"

Without thinking, Kurt's hand shot up and he jammed his finger onto the call button. Beside him, Rachel looked worried, but the only thing he could focus on was his breathing that was coming far too fast for his comfort.

"Yes, sir, can I help you?" Kurt turned his worried eyes to the perky attendant who was smiling too widely at him, her hands clasped in front of her. Suddenly, his heavy breathing was making it nearly impossible for him to speak, and he wasn't sure what to say in the first place. The woman simply stood there, waiting patiently.

"Uh… C-could I get some water?" he sputtered, realizing after he said it that his mouth was incredibly dry.

"Of course," she replied, scurrying off the retrieve his request. When she returned, Kurt downed what she had given him in less than five seconds, twiddling the empty cup in his fingers nervously afterward.

As the plane around them started to move, Kurt shifted down in his seat, closing his eyes once more. He broke out into a sweat again, and his stomach felt even worse than before.

In… Out… In… Out…

* * *

Burt nearly catapulted out of his seat when he saw the announcement about the arrival of the flight from New York. He stood as close as possible to the door where the passengers would be coming in, shamelessly shoving past a couple people to get there.

He had no idea what to expect of his son, not even sure what was really going on. Rachel had called him, stammering on and on about how worried she was about Kurt, and how terrified she was that something bad had happened to him. When he asked what she thought had happened, she had refused to say anything. What else was he supposed to do but bring his boy back home? If something bad _had_ happened…

People started filing into the airport, dragging suitcases and looking jetlagged. Burt desperately searched the doorway, trying to find the familiar pale face, styled hair, and designer clothes. Stranger after stranger came through, meeting with family members or pulling out a phone to make a call. It was starting to seem like his son would never make an appearance, and Burt creased his brow worriedly.

There he was. Burt wasn't sure what he expected, but it definitely wasn't… that.

Kurt followed closely behind Rachel, his head ducked down and his eyes darting around rapidly. When anyone came close to him, purposefully or by accident, he shrunk away and tensed up. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his usually creamy skin tone was ashy and sullen. What was worse than his anxious appearance was that when he spotted his dad, Kurt simply looked to the ground, not even raising his gaze when he and Rachel stopped in front of him.

"Hey kiddo," Burt offered, trying to keep the hurt from his voice. His son mumbled something in reply, and he was left looking to Rachel for help. She simply shrugged, looking just as worried as he felt. "Let's get going to the car. I'm supposed to drop you off at your house," he added to Rachel, earning a nod in response.

The walk to the car was silent, as was the entire ride home. Burt kept trying to start a conversation, and he really didn't even care which kid he started it with. Kurt was unresponsive and quiet, which set off red flags all over the place in Burt's mind. Rachel was just as quiet, though she at least gave responses that consisted of more than a grunt or sigh. Once she was out of the car, though, the two men were left in complete silence.

It shouldn't be like this. Burt gripped the steering wheel tightly in his fingers, his knuckles going white. There was thick tension in the air, but he had no idea why, and he couldn't seem to find the words to speak, though he wanted nothing more than to talk to Kurt. His son sat right beside him, tense and quiet, the exact opposite of what had gone off to New York.

"So… what've you been up to?" Burt offered. Kurt just shrugged with one shoulder, staring out his window dully. "You don't know what you've been up to?" He chuckled lightly, but his son didn't share the humor.

"Nothing I guess," he muttered.

"You guess?" No response. "Alright, then." They drove on for a few more minutes, and Burt finally turned the radio up, wishing the music would drown out the impossibly loud silence. He even turned it to a station that his son always listened to, hoping for some spark in Kurt, who adored music. When he didn't even stir after three songs, Burt got a sinking feeling in his stomach that something was very wrong.

"Hey," he interrupted the music suddenly, turning it down a bit. "Didn't you tell me you were going to join some glee club? What was it called? App… Ar… Ad… Adam's Apples, that's it, yeah. Did you ever do that?" He glanced over at his son, smiling slightly, but when he saw Kurt he nearly swerved the car off the road.

Kurt turned his head sharply, looking terrified. His eyes were wide, and his face blanched at the mention of the club for some reason. His face twisted into a grimace for only half a second before he regained his composure and looked back out the window.

"No," he whispered simply, back to looking distant and bored.

What the… Burt forced his eyes back to the road, but he couldn't help stealing glances toward his son every few seconds. What _was_ that? Was that normal? Not for Kurt it wasn't. He had never seen his son look like that. Terrified, panicked, even a little _angry_. It was just… weird.

They rode the rest of the way home in complete silence apart from the turned-down radio whistling quietly between them. Burt didn't try to strike up a conversation again.

When they finally got home and rushed inside, Burt didn't even have a chance to tell his son nothing had changed in his room before Kurt bustled off down the stairs, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

Something was very, very wrong.

* * *

**Notes: **Ok my baby is home now (though I doubt that'll make things any better for him...)

And Burt. I love Burt so, so much. You can probably expect some loving, protective, fatherly Burt in the future of this fic. And by probably I mean definitely. I hope you guys don't mind. :P


End file.
